


R U L E S

by fallenluci



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-02-15 16:45:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2236218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallenluci/pseuds/fallenluci
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>He’s running. He’s in a building, desks and chairs scattered around him. He’s hiding. He’s bleeding. The blood seeps through his shirt, and he knows that this is very, very bad. Everything smells like salt and iron, enough to make him feel sick. He ducks behind an overturned desk, pressing his back up against the wood. There’s a gun in his hand, but he’s all out of bullets. With a frustrated groan, he throws it to the ground. It seems like there’s nothing he can do.</em><br/>~ </p><p>It happened five years ago, and it happened fast. No one’s quite sure exactly when and where, but it targeted the largely populated cities. New York, Beijing, Tokyo, London, you name it, they were taken down. The virus spreads like wildfire, destroying the brain in under an hour flat. Transmitted by bodily fluids; it affects the frontal and temporal lobe of the brain, destroying the basic human emotions and leaving behind the basics; like motor control. There is only one function of a host body once they are infected.</p><p>Infect more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to bethany [(riverdapple)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RiverDapple/pseuds/RiverDapple) for making this thing actually readable and fixing everything and giving me ideas and everything. you're amazing (though i'm sure you already know that)
> 
> so this is a last of us au, but if you haven't played the game, it doesn't matter. it only vaguely follows the storyline, but the world they live in is very similar. however, it wasn't a fungal infection - therefore there are no spores. it was viral. i'm only at a very basic level of biology, even less chemistry, so i tried to work through the actual creation of the virus with two friends who are far more intelligent than me. sorry for any scientific mistakes.

**R U L E  O N E** : _Never let personal attachment get in the way of a job_

 

-

 

 

> It happened five years ago, and it happened fast. No one’s quite sure exactly when and where, but it targeted the largely populated cities. New York, Beijing, Tokyo, London; you name it, they were taken down.
> 
> The virus ( _Mononegavirales_ ) spreads like wildfire, destroying the brain in an hour flat. Transmitted by bodily fluids; it affects the frontal and temporal lobe of the brain, destroying basic human emotion and leaving behind the basics: like motor control. There is only one function of a host body once they are infected.
> 
> Infect more.
> 
> The infection is a hybrid mutation between rabies and bird flu. Once infected, the host body’s circulatory system slows until it is almost non-existent, and they eat whatever they can find, be it humans or animals. Due to lack of judgement, the body is able to work without restrictions, making the infected almost impossibly fast and strong.
> 
> By the time the virus had been circulating for three months, the government had fallen.Anarchic states had already seized control of the larger cities that were mostly gone to the virus; but in the smaller, more  
> controlled towns, the mayor and small councils managed to keep the remaining vestiges of democracy together. But when the President abandoned the country, someone had to take charge.
> 
> Hydra was formed, a branch of government which believed that the only way to ensure security was to relieve people of their freedom. They separated the remaining cities into quarantine zones, deploying their own soldiers to keep the peace. But … their peace was conditional. There was no halfway with Hydra. It was absolute power, or nothing at all. With absolute power, however, comes rebellion. Shield (an underground resistance group) rose from the oppression of Hydra calling for the return of democracy. But Shield was only a whisper, a flame quickly snuffed out.
> 
> Now, there is no hope. There is no saving grace. There is no light at the end of the tunnel. There is only Hydra.

 

-

 

_He’s running. Bucky knows it’s a dream:  it’s got the same kind of gray, disjointed feeling of sedation as every other. He’s in a building, desks and chairs scattered around him. He’s hiding. He’s bleeding. The blood seeps through his shirt, and he knows that this is very, very bad. Everything smells like salt and iron, enough to make him feel sick. He ducks behind an overturned desk, pressing his back up against the wood. There’s a gun in his hand, but he’s all out of bullets. With a frustrated groan, he throws it to the ground. It seems like there’s nothing he can do._

_“We’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”_

_There’s another man next to him. He’s small, young; he’s breathing far too heavily to be healthy. Without quite knowing what he’s doing, Bucky hands the other man an inhaler from his bag. The dream is following its course, and Bucky is helplessly unable to divert its path._

_The man takes the inhaler gratefully. “Where did you get this?”_

_“Doesn’t matter,” Bucky answers. It’s like being forced to watch his actions replayed, while being trapped in his own mind; a mute._

_The man looks like he wants to argue, but he’s interrupted by gunshots making a fresh attack on the debris around them._

_Finally, Bucky understands. He knows where he is._ ‘No,’ _he thinks to himself,_ ‘please don’t make me watch this again, **please**.’ _He’s paralysed inside his mind as his body stands, pulling Steve up with him, the both of them running for the doorway while glass shatters on all sides._

_The a bullet hits Steve in his leg, and he falls against Bucky. Bucky picks him up, half aiding him, half dragging him towards the hallway. Everything seems heightened, and Bucky doesn’t know if it’s due to the adrenaline surging through his veins, or the fact that he’s dreaming, but he can hear everything. Steve gritting his teeth, the dull thuds of the bullets hitting the wall in front of them, the split second of silence ringing in his ears after every shot._

_“It’s okay, we’re gonna make it, we’re gonna be fine,” Bucky holds Steve tight, trying his best to keep his legs from knocking the bullet wound, “we’re gonna be fine, you’re okay.”_

_The next bullet tears through his other leg, and Steve collapses fully into Bucky’s arms, crying out in pain._

_They can’t go any further, but Bucky still tries to lift him, still tries to save him. “C’mon buddy, c’mon, we can do this. I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Bucky kneels down next to him, holding him tight against his chest. Steve has his eyes closed in pain, and his breath is even more ragged than before. It’ll take a lot more than an inhaler to help him now. His skinny frame shudders in Bucky’ arms, and his face is deathly white._

_Looking toward the shooters, who advance on them slowly, Bucky feels dread sink like a lead weight in_ _his stomach. There are about ten of them, all dressed in black with heavy duty black guns. They aren’t just rogue, trigger happy bandits – they’re what’s left of the government. They’ve stopped shooting now that they have Bucky and Steve exactly where they want them. Trapped and wounded. If the men in black had wanted them dead, they’d be long gone - but instead, they’re still breathing._

_“They want me,” Steve says into Bucky’s chest, “You gotta run, Buck. Just go.”_

_Bucky chokes back the welling feeling of hopelessness in his throat. “Not without you.”_

_The shooters surround them in no time. Their voices are muffled by their masks, but Bucky catches a few of their words._

_“-just the small one, the other isn’t-”_

_“-he’s not needed. Shoot hi-”_

_“-might be interested in the both of th-”_

_“-waste of resources-”_

_“Leave him for dead.”_

_One of them raises their gun, points it towards Bucky’s head. Bucky holds Steve closer to him. “You’ll be okay, I’m so sorry Steve, I’m so sorry.”_

_The gunman pulls the trigger, and James Buchanan Barnes wakes up._

 

-

 

The knock at his front door matches the gunshot in his nightmare as James is shocked awake. He throws himself out of bed, the nightmare still fresh in his mind. Steve’s small, frail body – haunting him. A ghost. A glance at his alarm clock makes him groan. His day off, and someone comes at 6:23AM to wake him up. He barely gets enough sleep as it is.

His apartment is old, and the wallpaper tattered. The hot water comes and goes, and there’s no electricity from 2AM till 4. But it’s cheap. Being in Pierce’s back pocket has its advantages. All the shitty apartment costs him is smuggling illicit goods and contraband into the quarantine zones whenever Pierce needs them. But the job isn’t without risk. Out there, Outside, everything goes. Even once he makes it past the Infected, there’s still the threat of the survivors. Rogue soldiers and bandits rule the urban chaos of the Outside. But it’s all means to an eventual end. Pierce had promised him, promised that he - and anyone he cares about -  will never have to go hungry again.

On his way through the kitchen to the front door, James slides a kitchen knife into his waistband. He’s been living here long enough to know that it’s naive to pretend that being Pierce’s lap dog makes him invincible. If anything, it makes people who know hate him more.

“You have a job,” Natasha says as soon as James opens the door: her only form of greeting. She strides confidently into his apartment, heading straight for his poorly stocked liquor cabinet - another perk of his job. She’s already pouring herself a glass when James gathers himself and turns around.

“Pierce knows that it’s my day off,” he says bitterly, attempting to snatch the bottle off Natasha.

She holds it out of his grasp, smirking at him. She’s wearing dirty cargo pants, and a deep maroon shirt – probably to hide any occupational bloodstains. Her hair is tied in a messy bun on top of her head, exposing the Russian tattoos on her neck, along with a conspicuous amount of blood.

Natasha notices his gaze and shrugs.

“It’s not mine.”

Instead of explaining the blood, she just gets pours James a glass, not bothering to ask whether he wants one or not. She doesn’t justify herself; she never does. She’s a smuggler, just like him, only much more secretive. She doesn’t do favours for anybody, especially not Pierce. She works for herself. Natasha is a born survivor, probably came into the world wielding an AK-47.

“Pierce knows that it’s my day off,” James repeats.

Natasha hands James his glass.

“Did I say that it was a job from Pierce?” She raises an eyebrow, smirking over her glass as she downs her drink in one go.

“Oh, well in that case,” James says coyly, and takes his drink from Natasha, “it’s definitely my day off.”

“C’mon,” Natasha says, wetting a rag and dabbing away at the blood on her neck, “this employer doesn’t ask twice, and you definitely want this job. Besides,” she tosses the rag into the sink, “it’s my job too.”

This is news. As well as being secretive and a survivor, Natasha always works alone. She doesn’t trust anyone as far as she can throw them, and she would never bet her well being on a partner. Even as much as she claims that James is her only friend, that friendship only goes so far.

She taps him twice on the arm, while he’s still trying to process it all, and strides towards the door. She’s a whirlwind. She comes into his home, drinks his alcohol, bloodies up his rags, and then drags him away; all within two minutes.

“You are going to be the death of me,” James sighs, finishing his drink, and grabbing his coat on the way out.

 

-

 

Brooklyn was never beautiful, even James can accept that, but it used to be _familiar_. He used to know the streets like the back of his hand: knew where you could get the most candy for a dollar, knew that you avoided Foster Avenue at 3:30PM when walking home from school (because Mr. Oliver was often drunk and never kept his crazy dog tied up). Now, the streets look like war zones, a dollar is worth nothing, and Mr. Oliver and his dog are long dead.

The buildings surround them like walls, gates lining the outskirts and controlling the quarantine zone. People litter the pavement and the side streets, seeing as the threat of cars are long gone. The majority of windows are smashed in with panels of wood nailed haphazardly over the gaping holes: a weak attempt to keep out the people with nothing left to lose. Several government issue signs cover the walls along with varied levels of graffiti. Most of it is juvenile people making their mark, or some angry protest about the way the government treats them, but there are a few that make the soldiers much more uncomfortable. Hydra may be the only remaining form of government, but that doesn’t stop people from believing in Shield.

People like to pretend that the quarantine zones are safer, but all you’re really safe from is the Infected. Living in the zones comes with the threat of soldiers, and their word is law. There’s the daily virus screenings, the strict access to different zones, and the survivors, who can be every bit as rabid as the Infected.

There’s a soldier on every block. Some of them stand on top of buildings with their guns held loosely, a silent threat to everyone on the ground. Some of them guard the entrance to official buildings; the ration kitchens, checkpoints, recruitment agencies. And then there are the ones that just walk the streets - those are the ones James watches for. The bullies. It’s not as though he doesn’t understand it - their job is boring. They’re psychopaths with guns who only get to pull the trigger every so often… so they make do. They intimidate, they steal, they beat people who look at them the wrong way. James understands, but that doesn’t make him hate them any less.

As he walks, James catches pieces of the conversation around him.

“I’ve been selected for ‘Outside work duty’. Don’t know how I’m gonna b-”

“-got your ID on you? Them goddamn soldiers are checking every-”

“Rations are running low again. It’s been a fucking tough winter-”

“Hand on your heads, come out and kneel on the ground. Routine Infection scan. Compliance with city personnel is mandatory.”

They move past an old apartment building, ignoring the police shouting orders at several civilians held at gunpoint. James avoids their eyes. Better to not get involved. Several scars imprinted into his skin show that he learnt that lesson the hard way.

Pierce used to shake his head every time James showed up for a job with a bloodied lip or black eye.

_“Oh, James. Why is it wired into you to fight the system?”_

He used to care. He used to fight back, but that never got him anywhere. No one cares about your life, and the word of the soldiers is law. He can’t count how many times he’d been close to losing his life if Natasha hadn’t been there for him. Of course, there was another person who always used to have his back. The first person that ever had his back. The one person who would let himself get a black eye if it meant that James didn't. But he’s gone now, and James doesn’t like to think about it.

“Where are we going Nat?” James hisses once the soldiers are out of earshot.

“Relax,” Natasha says, shooting James a lazily smile, “We’re nearly there.”

She leads him down another side street, and another and another until Bucky knows that he will never be able to recreate the path on his own. Each street is identical to the last - the only thing that differs is the amount of people. The final street is practically empty, save for the few homeless citizens cowering as close as they can to the shelter of the buildings. There are no soldiers here. They avoid the homeless like the plague. Acknowledging them would mean accepting that their system doesn’t work.

“Hey, Carter,”

James turns his head to see Natasha talking to a woman near the door of an abandoned apartment building. She's beautiful, with wavy blonde hair and chocolate eyes, but there's something about the way she walks that has James convinced that she could kill him with her little finger. She's the kind of beautiful that comes from living on the edges, and her clothes are tattered and torn. She looks like she's been through hell, and survived.

Carter glances past Natasha to look at James, then turns back to her.

“Is this the one?”

After a nod from Natasha, Carter stands to the side and lets them in. As he walks past, James catches a glance of a lethal looking blade strapped to Carter’s leg. A smile tugs at the edge of his lips.

“That regulation, Carter?”

Carter meets his eyes, and actually looks close to smiling back.

“Keep walking, Barnes.”

Inside, the building is just as depressing. Yellow tape cordons off the rooms behind the broken down doors, and a mixture of broken furniture blocks the stairs. The carpet has been ripped up from the floor, and the wallpaper is peeling. A glance at the his feet shows that most of the floorboards have started to rot; no one has cared for this place since the Infection hit.

The soldiers are the ones that decide whether or not a building is to be condemned. Most are saved; even if they do have broken windows and missing slats, they are still livable. Pierce has landlords stationed in each saved building, and rents out the buildings for prices no one can pay. That way, he keeps everyone in his debt. In debt to Hydra.

As for the buildings that aren’t livable, the soldiers mark them up with yellow warning tape, and there’s a penalty of imprisonment or exclusion for anyone found squatting.

“What kind of job is this?” James asks, dodging a large hole in the floor.

Natasha gives him what would have to be about the fifth cryptic grin he’s received from her that day.

“Trust me, Barnes, you want this one.”

She leads him around behind the stairwell. The silence echoes through the empty building, cold and eerie. He’s been living like this for five years, and James still isn’t used to the feeling of quiet. Sometimes, it’s too much. It leaves him alone with only his thoughts for company, which are all angry and red and filled with blame. Those are the days he seeks out Natasha, not for any kind of romantic or even sexual reason, just because they’re friends. Because she knows what it’s like to be afraid of your own mind.

“Help me with this,” Natasha demands, curling her fingers underneath a large, loose slat of wood.

Pushing it off reveals something out of a horror movie. A steel ladder leads them down into a dank, dirty basement. No, a tunnel. As James lowers himself down, the smell of decay only gets worse. The pipes for the building hadn’t been used in years, but rusty droplets -of something that may have once been water still fall occasionally.

They drop to the ground. It’s not secret that there are interconnecting tunnels under the buildings. James just never really wanted to be in them.

“It’s not far now, I promise,” Natasha points down the tunnel, “we’re just heading a little bit further down, to a safehouse.”

“Y’know, you could at least tell me what this is all about,” James says as they start walking.

“It’s complicated. Better they explain it to you. Don’t want you losing your head down here.”

“Nat,”

“James, when have I ever let you down?” Natasha asks, “Never. Let me have this moment where I know something and you don’t, just until we get there.”

They walk in silence for a few seconds before James stops sulking. “You always know what I don’t.”

Natasha laughs. “That’s what makes all this fun.”

-

The safehouse feels as though they’ve stepped into a whole other world. It’s not filled with people, but all of them are dressed in almost formal attire – formal for James anyway. Documents and maps are pinned along the walls, and a full size map of North America covers one. Red marks show the Quarantine Zones, but there are routes between them that he has never seen before in his life. There are desks set up to resemble an office, even a few computers being used. James turns to Natasha, who is watching his reactions with an almost grin.

“All right,” James admits, “I’m curious.”

Natasha’s eyes light up. “You just wait.”

They attract an equal number of both confused and understanding glances as they make their way to the back of the room, but mostly people just stay out of their way. James, on the other hand, can’t keep himself from looking around in amazement. Everything is new to him. Of course, it isn’t like he never saw it before, but after going for five years with only basic technology like lightbulbs and running water; a laptop is a pretty big deal.

Through another partially concealed door, Natasha and James are both patted down and scanned by two soldiers who look less like the ones patrolling the streets, and closer to what soldiers should actually look like. They don’t use their status to intimidate, they just do their job silently and respectfully, then let them through.

“Romanoff, I was wondering when you would deign to show up.”

Sitting at a large desk with a placard reading _‘Director Fury’_ placed near the front sits what is probably the angriest pirate James had ever seen. He’s big -not overweight, but big, with broad shoulders and heavyset waist. If Carter by the entrance looked like she could kill James with her little finger, Fury looks like he could kill James just by looking at him the right way. He’s dressed in all black, much like the soldiers on the streets, but there’s no Hydra insignia on his clothes – which confuses James, because there’s no doubt that this man is part of the government. There’s no way he could have this organisation running underground, using this much technology, without Pierce knowing. And yet, there’s been nothing to identify the basement as Hydra in the slightest. It’s beginning to dawn on James that this job may just be a lot more dangerous than first anticipated.

“Well, Nick, I do love to keep you waiting.” Natasha’s tone is joking, but there’s something else underneath. A kind of reverent respect that James has never heard her use before. It’s unnerving.

Fury turns in his chair to look at James.

“And you’re our smuggler.”

“I’m not sure what I am for you yet.” James says cautiously, and Fury raises an eyebrow.

“I thought you said, and I quote, ‘it’ll take all of Brooklyn to hold him back from this job’,” Fury says to Natasha, who just shrugs.

“I may have held back some of the details.”

Fury stands with a sigh.

“Well, Barnes, I’ve been told that you’re a decent smuggler ‘round here.”

“I get by,” James answers, his tone still wary. He’s known Natasha for nearly two years, and for the first time in a long while, he’s beginning to mistrust her motives.

“I’ve got a job for you, and this job requires more than someone who just ‘get’s by’. I need something taken to California, which isn’t a walk in the park. I also need it taken through the Outside, no quarantine zones. Maximum care, maximum security, while attracting as little attention as possible. It is of optimum importance that it is not detected by the government, and I need you to leave in an hour, because there’s no doubt Pierce is gonna be hounding my ass as soon as we’re done here.”

James narrows his eyes.

“Sounds like a lot of risk from someone I’ve never met before. What if I say no?”

Natasha chokes back a laugh, and Fury makes the closest face to a smirk. “I don’t think you’ll be turning this one down.”

“So what are we talking; drugs, weapons, advance rations-”

“A person,” Fury cuts in. His eye stays focused on James’ face, but he doesn’t let any emotion or shock register. He stands silently, and waits for Fury to continue. “He’s considered government property, but you’d agree with me when I say that no one is property.”

James glances over at Natasha, who is staring at him with something close to excitement, anticipation.

“How much are you gonna pay me?”

“Nothing. The satisfaction of his security will be payment enough.”

James chuckles lightly, but when it becomes clear that no one else is laughing, he promptly scowls.

“You’re out of your fucking mind. You honestly think I’m going to smuggle a _person_ , to fucking _California_ , for _satisfaction_ , then you’ve got the wrong guy. Find someone desperate, or suicidal.”

James turns on his heel, nearly out of the door when Natasha puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Aren’t you even a little bit interested about who you’ll be smuggling?”

“Find someone else,” James says, shaking Nat’s hand away, but the curiosity is nagging at him. Who the hell is the ‘government property’ that requires a maximum security escort through the Outside, avoiding all quarantine zones?

Blocking his path, Fury moves in front of James.

“Just meet him, then make up your mind.”

When they reach the door to what looks like a bunker, Fury pauses.

“If everything I know about you is right, Barnes, this may be a shock to you. Romanoff has assured me that you can handle it, so please doesn’t goddamn faint.”

For the first time in three years, something stirs inside of James. Something hopeful, something happy, something laced with golden memories of summertime at Coney Island. _‘No,’_ James pushes it down, _‘there’s no way.’_. He follows after Fury as the door is opened, trying to control his breathing.

On a bed in front of them, a man lies on his side, his face turned away. But from what James can see, he’s tall; taller than all of them. If he thought that Fury was built, then this guy is a whole different thing. When he hears them enter, the man sits up and turns around to face them.

James feels a roar around his ears, so loud and so all encompassing that he nearly doesn’t hear the words that come out of Steve Rogers’ mouth.

“Bucky?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so howard is about fifty in this au, and he had tony in his early twenties, which makes tony somewhere in his thirties maybe idk. also, because of the whole age mixup thing, peggy and sharon are cousins, peggy older (somewhere around forty) and sharon about twenty five (ish????)

 

 **R U L E  T W O:**  Keep your finger off the trigger

 

-

 

_“Steve, my name is Howard Stark. Do you want me to explain the process?”_

_Doctors never explain anything to Steve. They just do whatever they want; take blood, read his heart rate, ask him odd questions about his medical history. Erskine’s the only one who speaks to him, the rest just do their jobs. Howard Stark isn’t a doctor, Steve knows that much._

_“Okay.”_

_Howard doesn’t sit like Erskine, he paces at the end of Steve’s bed. He looks to be the same age as the doctor, but he’s filled with an almost nervous kind of energy._

_“We’ve located the source of your immunity. You’re technically Infected – your blood carries the virus – but there are antibodies in your brain which prevent the virus from infecting there. Now, we’re going to saturate your cells with Vita Rays and an Immunoglobulin E serum, which will hopefully cause your regular antibodies to behave in the same way as the ones in your brain. Your Immunoglobulin E antibodies are mutated, which is why you suffered from chronic asthma and other health problems. By whatever miracle of nature, they didn’t protect you from most diseases, but they were developed for this one. Of course, there’s-”_

_“That’s fine,” Steve interrupts, “I don’t need to know any more.”_

_He isn’t stupid, and it’s not like Howard’s explanation goes over his head, but he just doesn’t care. They can do whatever they want; they’ve already taken his life away from him, what does his body matter?_

_They take him for walks now, like he’s some kind of dog._

_Steve has been allowed access to the entirety of the hospital, always tailed by two or more Shield personnel. His constant bodyguard - a woman named Agent Carter - is one of the three with him now, as he walks the exterior loop of the hospital grounds. The last time he was Outside, it had been summer. Now, autumn has seized itself in the brittle reds and browns of the leaves. There’s no frost yet - the mornings are still too warm - but there’s that bite in the air that promises winter._

_Breathing comes easier to him now. Erskine and Stark have disregarded the procedure as a failure, but Steve doesn’t understand how it can be anything other than a success. Instead of the injected antibodies mimicking the mutated ones that already existed in his brain, they have simply become supercharged by the Vita Rays, curing his ailments that the mutated ones couldn’t._

_Peggy and two other men trail behind Steve, all three equipped with heavy black guns. Steve wonders if they would use them on him if he tried to run. He wants to run. Not to escape from Shield, but just to try it. His new body, his new muscles; they all ache to be tested out._

_“Is there any place where I can run?” Steve asked._

_Peggy raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t object. “There’s a park not far from here. We could escort you there tomorrow.”_

_Steve opens his mouth to argue, but Peggy shakes her head._

_“Baby steps, Rogers.”_

 

-

 

“Who the hell is Bucky?” Natasha asks.

James doesn’t hear her. He can barely hear anything aside from the roaring in his ears. This doesn’t look like the Steve he said goodbye to three years ago, but James knows that it’s him. Sure, he’s bigger, but he still has those blue gray eyes that James knows better than his own.

Steve stands, making his way towards James, those eyes wide in amazement.

“I thought you were dead,” Steve chokes out, his voice breaking on the last word.

James lets out a relieved cry, “I thought you were smaller.”

They stand – only inches away from each other – for a few seconds, before James throws himself forward, and wraps his  arms around Steve’s neck. At the exact same moment, Steve leans down and holds James around his waist, pulling him close, afraid to let go.

James doesn’t cry; he refuses to let Natasha or Fury have the satisfaction of seeing him like that. But he wants to. He wants to hold Steve tight and sob with relief. James never thought – he never let himself dream – that he would see Steve again.

They pull away, both of them shocked, silent with quiet relief. It’s all James can do to keep from running his fingers across Steve’s face, tracing his features, making sure that he’s real.

“I’m so sorry, Steve, it was my fault, I should never’ve-”

“Hey,” Steve embraces James again, “it’s okay, I’m fine, it’s not your fault.”

From somewhere behind him, James hears Natasha gasp, finally putting the pieces together. She doesn’t say anything, though James knows that she wants to. There’s only very vague parts of his history that Natasha knows. He never felt the need to disclose anything to her, but he had told her that he lost his partner three years ago, gasping through tears that came with the alcohol and repressed guilt. He told her about how he had led them through a building he thought was safe, and how he was the reason that his partner was dead.

Dead. He’s never allowed himself to believe that there was another future for Steve. It was almost kinder to hope for it. Even after circumstances forced James into Hydra’s arms, he still hoped that whoever had gotten Steve, they had given him a quick death. And when he learnt that it wasn’t Pierce who took him, James knew that it was for the best.

But now, Steve is here. He’s here, and he’s safe, and James can help him.

“Did it – did they hurt you?” James asks, pulling away and holding Steve’s shoulders.

“No, I’m okay, I’m fine,” Steve says in the same soothing voice he would use to calm the feral cats that they tried to tame as children.

Fury clears his throat obnoxiously behind James.

“I really hate to interrupt your little heartfelt reunion,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “but if you want to get out of here before Hydra shows up, I recommend you come with me.”

 

-

 

“Tony Stark is living in Malibu, he’s got the length of the highway rigged with homemade security devices. We haven’t been there in a while, so there’s no way of knowing how extensive the system is-”

“But it’s Stark,” Fury cuts the woman who called herself ‘Hill’ off.

Hill nods, “-but it’s Stark. So expect anything. We’ve circled the areas you should avoid on your maps. Obviously, the colonies are off limits, but we’ve also managed to indicate some high Infected populations.”

She hands James a map, but he doesn’t take it.

“What does Stark want with Steve?” he asks, refusing to act in compliance until he has all the information. They had left Steve back in his bunker – much to James’ protest – so that Hill could brief James and Natasha on the protocol. James doesn’t trust either them. The initial relief of seeing Steve alive has worn off, replaced by anger that Shield kept Steve locked away.

Hill glances over at Fury, who sighs and turns to James.

“It’s no secret to you that he’s immune. Shield brought him in with the intention to find a cure.”

James scoffs, “Brought him in? You shot him.”

Fury shrugs, “We did what we had to do. Hydra was after him too.”

James knows that much. After Steve had been bitten all those years ago, he’d been stupid enough to rush him to a Hydra controlled hospital. When he never changed, Hydra wanted to take him in and run extensive tests on him. So James and Steve had run.

“But you didn’t find a cure, so you’re shipping him to a safehouse?” Natasha guesses.

Hill nods, “That, and Hydra knows that Shield has him.”

“Do they know that he’s here?” James asks.

Fury laughs sarcastically. “For someone who knows Pierce better than any other smuggler, you sure are stupid. I told you that you needed to be ready to go as soon as I showed you who you were smuggling. This place is about as secure as it gets, but that doesn’t keep it safe from leaks. Why do you think we’re moving him?”

“Let’s go then,” Natasha says, “if you’re right, and Hydra knows, then we have to move now.”

James stands. He wants to go back to the bunker, get Steve, and then hide in some abandoned country home in the South. He doesn’t want to ‘deliver’ Steve anywhere. He finds it hard to believe that Steve agreed to being their lab rat, holed away from society and experimented on. But it doesn’t matter. As soon as they’re out, as soon as they’re safe, then James will talk to him. Tell him that they don’t have to do this. Give him a choice. God knows it’s more than Shield ever offered.

A backpack is thrust into his hands, and James looks up to see Fury looming a few inches away from his face.

“Everything you need’s in here. Don’t go back to your apartment. They’ll have it rigged by now. Keep underground. Romanoff knows the tunnels, she’ll get you out. Don’t stop until you’re out of the Zone.”

James wants to argue, he wants to push Fury away and tell him that he’s been doing this kind of thing long enough not to get caught, but he nods anyway, shrugging on the backpack.

“Okay.”

Fury nods once and hands James a handgun, a standard semi-automatic pistol. “Don’t let him die, Barnes.”

James stops. If Fury honestly thinks that he would let Steve leave him again, he knows even less about James than he thought.

“Never.”

 

-

 

“Left!” Natasha calls back as she runs through the tunnels, the light of her torch disappearing as she takes a hard left into an adjoining tunnel that James hadn’t even seen.

He’s at the back, behind Steve and Natasha. They had barely made it back down into the tunnel system before they had heard different states of alarm raise themselves around the Shield headquarters. Fury had basically shoved James down the ladder, yelling at him to shoot whoever followed them.

“Give me a boost.”

Natasha waves Steve over, who obediently cradles her foot, pushing her up and on top of the seven foot ledge in front of them.

“James,” she orders, “give him a boost, I’ll pull him up.”

Once Steve is up, James jumps for the ledge, feeling both Steve and Natasha grabbing him under his arms and hoisting him up. The ledge isn’t very long, and there isn’t enough room for them to stand, but it’s discrete. So discrete, James hadn’t known that the shortcut even existed. He had been getting lazy with his smuggling in the past few weeks. He’d known about the tunnels, but he preferred to use the abandoned subway system. It’s large, clear of Infected, easy, and completely controlled by Hydra. These shortcuts, these shortcuts are news.

“We’re directly beneath the Outside,” Natasha says as they crawl, “this route comes out just inside Queens. From there, we can follow the maps to Pennsylvania.”

“We need a car.” James points out.

Before Natasha can answer, Steve speaks up. “I know a guy.”

Both Natasha and James stop, staring at Steve in confusion. James had assumed that they never let Steve out. How would he have time to make friends while he was busy being jailed and tested on? The anger boils under his skin again, but he forces it down. Later, a voice in his head tells him, get Steve to safety first, be angry with Shield later.

“Last time I saw him, he was in DC. I know it’s a bit of a stretch, but he’d help us.”

James exchanges a glance with Natasha, who is frowning.

“DC’s a seven day walk from here. Fourteen overall there and back.”

“Ten,” James corrects. “If we get a car off this guy, it’ll only be ten days out of our way, and think of how much time we’ll save on the way there.”

“A lot of the tracks we need to take are blocked off to cars.”

“We can take back roads, keep even further away from the Zones.”

“If the guy isn’t there, it’s a lot of risk for nothing.”

“If the guy is there, it’ll help us avoid a lot of risk.”

Whenever they’ve needed to make a decision in the past, they bounce the pros and cons off one another, until someone wins out. It was their failsafe, their way of making sure they don’t run into situations without evaluating the risk.

“Okay,” Natasha gives in, “Steve, explain it to us once we have a place to rest.”

They continue crawling, eventually reaching a loose panel. Natasha slips it away, and pulls herself up into the house. She’s the smallest and the quietest, so James and Steve hang back while she checks the area.

“Hey,” Steve brings his hand up to rest on James’ shoulder. It’s a small touch, but it speaks volumes. “I can’t believe that –I always thought-”

“I know.” James smiles as best as he can. He can’t afford to do much more than that.

Every other job has been different. He’s never had to do this, push his emotions to the side and just do what needs to be done. He’s never had someone he cares about being put in so much danger. It makes him feel insecure, it makes him feel reckless.

He feels like he should say more – like owes Steve more – but before he can say anything, Natasha pushes the panel away, light flooding into the dim tunnel.

“We’re free.”

 

-

 

The slums terrify James in a way that the Zones never did. There may be no soldiers, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less intimidating. Stalls and poorly made shacks line the old roads, skinny and sickly children holding their knees and leaning against the rusted metal, their skeletal hands curled upwards. Beggars. Their parents stand behind their shacks, trying desperately to sell whatever few goods they have. Most of them are homemade weapons; knives, nail bombs, Molotov cocktails, even the occasional bow.

The people who live here are desperate, clinging to the frays of humanity like a forgotten parasite. Their lives are determined by how much they can sell, and how much they can steal.

For whatever reason, they weren’t allowed to enter the Zones. For a lot of them, it’s because they weren’t of any use to the government. Illness, missing limbs, any kind of mental or physical impairment, they were tossed to the side. Hydra has no room for whoever they deemed as useless. Not only are they struggling to survive, but they also have a vicious and violent hate towards the government. Usually, that makes James afraid. This time, it works to his advantage.

“Clint.” Natasha calls.

A man with sandy blonde hair turns to face them. At first, James can’t understand why this man is living outside of the Zones, but when his hands start making different signals at rapid fire speed, he understands.

Natasha signs back to him, a language that James never even knew Natasha learnt. Even as she signs, she speaks a few words in English, speaking phrases that she doesn’t know. James guesses that Clint isn’t fully deaf, but enough to be dropped by Hydra.

Clint nods to whatever Natasha asked, then waves his hand at James and Steve. “Follow me.”

He leads them through the jungle of corrugated iron, each step further and further away from the fences of Brooklyn. They’re still there, still looming ominously in the distance. There’s a good distance between the slums and the Zone, but Pierce will have his soldiers out soon, combing the area for them.

They won’t search the slums though. They stay as far away from them as possible, even Pierce’s soldiers aren’t immune to believing the rumours of disease in the shanty towns.

“In here.” Clint says, motioning to a shelter covered in filthy sheets.

As James and Steve enter, he signs a few more things to Natasha and gives her a mock salute, before turning, and pulling the curtains shut behind him.

The shelter isn’t too bad. It’s made of salvaged wood, propped up and nailed against the old buildings that cage in the slum. The ground is covered in rugs and a few foam mattresses, along with a few rough pieces of furniture. An uneven table, shelves probably built by Clint himself, and wooden crates propping up the few possessions in the room. The walls are a patchwork quilt of textures. One is the wooden wall of the building the shelter is attached to, another, a chain link fence covered with more of the old sheets.

“Is this,” Steve pauses, “is this his home?”

Natasha sits herself down on one of the bare crates. “He used to be one of Shields who posed as Hydra. He was a soldier. Then, a few civilians let off a pretty powerful bomb by the main gate between the Zone and the Outside. Clint was too close. Got himself pretty burnt up, and lost 80% of his hearing. He used to have government issued hearing aids, but then, he became ‘too expensive’ for Hydra to take care of. They chucked him out, and Shield said that he was too risky to bring back in. Now, he lives here,” she stops, shaking her head. “He’s a good man, doesn’t deserve this.”

Sinking down on to one of the mattresses, James leans his back against the fence. “No one deserves the life they’ve been served.”

Steve drops his eyes to the ground, and James instantly feels bad. Out of all of them, Steve knows what it’s like to be at the government’s disposal.

“So this guy in DC,” Natasha starts the ball rolling, “how positive are you that he can get us a car for Malibu?”

“What?” James cuts in before Steve can answer. “No, we’re not doing this. Shipping Steve off to Stark so that he can keep treating him like a lab rat? No way. Tell her, Steve.”

Steve blinks, staring at James as if he’d just announced that he wanted to turn himself in to Hydra. “What do you mean?”

“Steve, they kept you locked away for years,” James can feel the anger rising, but he doesn’t push it down. “We were in the same fucking city for god knows how long, and they let me keep believing that you were dead. They shot you, they took you away and you want to let them do it again?”

“It’s not like that,” Steve says, sinking down to his knees to look James in the eyes. “They took care of me, Bucky. Yeah, their methods were questionable, but they were doing the best they could. They’re not all bad people. They saved my life.”

Scoffing, James shakes his head. “That’s one fucked up case of Stockholm Syndrome.”

“Bucky, listen-”

“No, you listen,” James grabs Steve’s shirt. “They took you away from me. They chased you down and took you away from me. I thought you were dead, and I knew that if you were, it was my fault. Do you know how many times I sat at that shitty apartment by myself, and considered putting a gun to my head?”

“James!” Natasha stands, striding over to them and pushing him back down against the fence, shoving Steve away behind her.

“You need to get a hold of yourself,” she snaps, and James isn’t entire convinced that she won’t slap him.

He leans his head back against the fence, the chains pressing against his skull. He can see Steve behind Natasha, his face a mask of horror, so James closes his eyes. He already feels guilt twisting through him; cold and ugly. He should never have said anything to Steve, he would only blame himself.

Natasha still has both of her hands on James’ shoulders, bracing him back against the fence. With her lip curled in disgust, she lets him go, moving back to sit on the crate.

“I’m sorry.” James says, eyes still closed, head still pressed back against the fence.

“The man who did this to me died,” Steve mumbled, “he got shot by Hydra while creating a diversion so I could get away.”

James squints his eyes shut harder. “Steve-”

“I had two people assigned to me. Peggy Carter, who was my bodyguard, and Howard Stark, who was a scientist who was working on the cure. Tony’s father. They risked everything to keep me safe, move me and uproot their own lives when they needed to. I brought Hydra to their front door, and now they’re probably dead because of me. I owe them this.”

“You don’t owe anyone anything.” James mutters, but Steve shakes his head.

“For the last three years, the choices were made for me. Now, I get to make my own, and I’m choosing to go to Stark. You have to understand that.”

James glances over at Natasha, who is still glaring at him with barely concealed fury. “You know that I’ll support whatever you choose,” he says, in the most measured and calm voice he can muster, “but that doesn’t mean that I think that what Shield did was right.”

“I didn’t expect you to.”

 

-

 

_It takes a year for Hydra to catch up with him._

_Steve runs through the flames that wind their way through the halls of the hospital. Hydra came in the middle of the night, setting fire to all corners of the hospital, trapping them like caged mice. Peggy is running too, only lagging slightly behind._

_“Don’t wait for me you tool! Run!”_

_Ducking his head, Steve takes off again, ripping open the door to the stairs. It’s so different, all this strength boiling beneath his skin. He can’t help but wonder what it would have been like to have it when he was with –no. He kills the thought before he lets it finish. He can’t think about him, not here. Here, he needs to focus on surviving._

_He shoots down the stairs two at a time, hitting the ground floor quickly. Peggy isn’t too far behind._

_“Second door leads to the parking lot,” Peggy grabs her radio off her belt, “Stark? Stark, come in!”_

_Steve slams through the door as Peggy’s radio crackles to life._

_“Carter. Whole h- -Infected near t- -o to emergency par- -car waiting.”_

_The reception cuts in and out, but Peggy seems to get the message._

_“There now. Waiting for you.”_

_The emergency parking lot is eerily empty compared to the chaos of the hospital. They had barricaded away the rear end of the hospital due to the large population of Infected south of the town, but the fire will act as a beacon. Soon, they will all be stimulated. And hungry._

_"What about all the people still inside?" Steve asks._

_Peggy shakes her head, "they're trained soldiers. They know how to deal with things like this."_

_"Some of them were injured," Steve presses. Now that the immediate danger has worn off, and both he and Peggy are safe, his mind already goes towards an extraction plan. "I can help them now, I know the way, I can carry a few at a time,"_

_"No," Peggy cuts him off with a glare. "Our number one priority is to get you to safety. Everyone in that hospital knows that. If they didn't think you were worth the risk, they wouldn't have joined."_

_Steve opens his mouth to argue, but in that moment, a_ _green army jeep comes barreling around the corner, destroying the calm of the parking lot. Peggy signals wildly, even though they are the only ones in sight. In only a few seconds, she shoves Steve into the vehicle, jumping in after him and slamming the door behind her. The jeep is already full when they jumped in, so Steve squeezes into a spot between a SHIELD agent who is quite badly burnt - who has another agent tending to her - and Peggy._

_Howard spins around to face them from the front passenger seat. "Any injuries?"_

_When the both of them shake their heads, Howard relaxes back into his seat before explaining the next steps. "We're heading to another hospital base in Nebraska. It's smaller, but it's way less conspicuous. We're splitting up though, sending off several different groups to different bases. Hydra shouldn't be able to track us all down."_

_"Is Erskine heading in our direction?" Steve asks._

_A heavy silence fills the jeep as Howard exchanges a pained expression with Peggy. Steve knows what that look means, but he refuses to let it sink in. "Is he?"_

_"Steve, when Hydra came, we were all really unprepared. A few of them made into the hospital. They must have been tipped off to where Erskine was, or they were just really lucky. When we realised what was going on, it was too late. I'm sorry."_

_Steve leans back on the seat. His fault. This is his fault. He feels bile rise in his throat, but he forces it down. With a bitter curl of his lip, he adds Erskine to the list of people who have been hurt because of him. He wonders how many names will be on the list when it's all over._

 


End file.
